He put both hands to his temples, as if he feared his brain would give way, and stood looking at her, the mocking irony of the situation seeming to burn in his brain like fire.

"Dead!" he repeated, and Mrs. Gerhardt, fearing for the reason of the man, shrank still farther away, her wits taken up rather with the tragedy of the figure he presented than with the actual substance of his woe.

"He intended to marry her," she pleaded nervously. "He would have married her if he had not died."

"Would have!" shouted Gerhardt, coming out of his trance at the sound of her voice. "Would have! That"s a fine thing to talk about now. Would have! The hound! May his soul burn in h.e.l.l--the dog!

Ah, G.o.d, I hope--I hope--If I were not a Christian--" He clenched his hands, the awfulness of his pa.s.sion shaking him like a leaf.

Mrs. Gerhardt burst into tears, and her husband turned away, his own feelings far too intense for him to have any sympathy with her. He walked to and fro, his heavy step shaking the kitchen floor. After a time he came back, a new phase of the dread calamity having offered itself to his mind.

"When did this happen?" he demanded

"I don"t know," returned Mrs. Gerhardt, too terror-stricken to tell the truth. "I only found it out the other day."

"You lie!" he exclaimed in his excitement. "You were always shielding her. It is your fault that she is where she is. If you had let me have my way there would have been no cause for our trouble to-night.

"A fine ending," he went on to himself. "A fine ending. My boy gets into jail; my daughter walks the streets and gets herself talked about; the neighbors come to me with open remarks about my children; and now this scoundrel ruins her. By the G.o.d in heaven, I don"t know what has got into my children!

"I don"t know how it is," he went on, unconsciously commiserating himself. "I try, I try! Every night I pray that the Lord will let me do right, but it is no use. I might work and work. My hands--look at them--are rough with work. All my life I have tried to be an honest man. Now--now--" His voice broke, and it seemed for a moment as if he would give way to tears. Suddenly he turned on his wife, the major pa.s.sion of anger possessing him.

"You are the cause of this," he exclaimed. "You are the sole cause.

If you had done as I told you to do this would not have happened. No, you wouldn"t do that. She must go out! out!! out!!! She has become a street-walker, that"s what she has become. She has set herself right to go to h.e.l.l. Let her go. I wash my hands of the whole thing. This is enough for me."

He made as if to go off to his little bedroom, but he had no sooner reached the door than he came back.

"She shall get out!" he said electrically. "She shall not stay under my roof! To-night! At once! I will not let her enter my door again. I will show her whether she will disgrace me or not!"

"You mustn"t turn her out on the streets to-night," pleaded Mrs.

Gerhardt. "She has no place to go."

"To-night!" he repeated. "This very minute! Let her find a home.

She did not want this one. Let her get out now. We will see how the world treats her." He walked out of the room, inflexible resolution fixed upon his rugged features.

At half-past five, when Mrs. Gerhardt was tearfully going about the duty of getting supper, Jennie returned. Her mother started when she heard the door open, for now she knew the storm would burst afresh.

Her father met her on the threshold.

"Get out of my sight!" he said savagely. "You shall not stay another hour in my house. I don"t want to see you any more. Get out!"

Jennie stood before him, pale, trembling a little, and silent. The children she had brought home with her crowded about in frightened amazement. Veronica and Martha, who loved her dearly, began to cry.

"What"s the matter?" George asked, his mouth open in wonder.

"She shall get out," reiterated Gerhardt. "I don"t want her under my roof. If she wants to be a street-walker, let her be one, but she shall not stay here. Pack your things," he added, staring at her.

Jennie had no word to say, but the children cried loudly.

"Be still," said Gerhardt. "Go into the kitchen."

He drove them all out and followed stubbornly himself.

Jennie went quietly to her room. She gathered up her few little belongings and began, with tears, to put them into a valise her mother brought her. The little girlish trinkets that she had acc.u.mulated from time to time she did not take. She saw them, but thought of her younger sisters, and let them stay. Martha and Veronica would have a.s.sisted her, but their father forbade them to go.

At six o"clock Ba.s.s came in, and seeing the nervous a.s.sembly in the kitchen, inquired what the trouble was.

Gerhardt looked at him grimly, but did not answer.

"What"s the trouble?" insisted Ba.s.s. "What are you all sitting around for?"

"He is driving Jennie away," whispered Mrs. Gerhardt tearfully.

"What for?" asked Ba.s.s, opening his eyes in astonishment.

"I shall tell you what for," broke in Gerhardt, still speaking in German. "Because she"s a street-walker, that"s what for. She goes and gets herself ruined by a man thirty years older than she is, a man old enough to be her father. Let her get out of this. She shall not stay here another minute."

Ba.s.s looked about him, and the children opened their eyes. All felt clearly that something terrible had happened, even the little ones.

None but Ba.s.s understood.

"What do you want to send her out to-night for?" he inquired. "This is no time to send a girl out on the streets. Can"t she stay here until morning?"

"No," said Gerhardt.

"He oughtn"t to do that," put in the mother.

"She goes now," said Gerhardt. "Let that be an end of it."

"Where is she going to go?" insisted Ba.s.s.

"I don"t know," Mrs. Gerhardt interpolated weakly.

Ba.s.s looked around, but did nothing until Mrs. Gerhardt motioned him toward the front door when her husband was not looking.

"Go in! Go in!" was the import of her gesture.

Ba.s.s went in, and then Mrs. Gerhardt dared to leave her work and follow. The children stayed awhile, but, one by one, even they slipped away, leaving Gerhardt alone. When he thought that time enough had elapsed he arose.

In the interval Jennie had been hastily coached by her mother.

Jennie should go to a private boarding-house somewhere, and send back her address. Ba.s.s should not accompany her, but she should wait a little way up the street, and he would follow. When her father was away the mother might get to see her, or Jennie could come home. All else must be postponed until they could meet again.

While the discussion was still going on, Gerhardt came in.

"Is she going?" he asked harshly.

"Yes," answered Mrs. Gerhardt, with her first and only note of defiance.

Ba.s.s said, "What"s the hurry?" But Gerhardt frowned too mightily for him to venture on any further remonstrance.

Jennie entered, wearing her one good dress and carrying her valise.

There was fear in her eyes, for she was pa.s.sing through a fiery ordeal, but she had become a woman. The strength of love was with her, the support of patience and the ruling sweetness of sacrifice.